


Married to My Work

by ledtherevolution



Series: Sentiment [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Based on a Tumblr Post, Cotton Candy Fluff, Did I Mention, Fluff, Like, Marriage, Much Excite, Multi, Post-Reichenbach, Same-Sex Marriage, Sherlock-centric, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because there is not enough sheriarty fluff, hopefully, i definitely blame tumblr, i didn't even ship this until yesterday, i saw it and did the squeaky flaily arms thing, i swear they're in character, john is a little surprised, more bad tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5653666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledtherevolution/pseuds/ledtherevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's his wedding. Everyone is surprised. I basically said that this is what would have happened say if Sherlock, kept Jim to make him help in the destruction of his web. And then there's sentiment. And we all know what happens then.<br/>Basically Jim and Sherlock are getting married. </p><p>based on a gifset I saw on Tumblr. </p><p>You probably know which one I'm talking about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Married to My Work

When Sherlock called John late on a Sunday afternoon, the last thing he expected was "good" news.

"Sherlock? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He asked hurriedly into the receiver, half-expecting he'd have to sprint across town to pull a bullet from his chest or fight of a sniper or _something._ That Sherlock would tell him he was dying and would need immediate medical attention. But never this. Nothing could have ever prepared him for what Sherlock was about to say.

"John," Sherlock began. He sounded... _happy._ Or pleased. He didn't sound dead at all. He sounded _alive_. So then why call him? 

"I'm getting married."

That was about the time John dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor and John immediately clamored after it.

"You're _what?"_ John asked, wondering if he heard correctly.

"I'm getting married," he repeated, annoyance edging his tone this time.

"To...to _who?"_

"Whom," he corrected automatically. "To Jim, John." A chill ran down his spine. _What the actual hell had_ happened _in twenty-four months?_

"Jim...Jim Moriarty?" He asked, rubbing the edge of his granite countertop with his thumb. He did know that they were practically _made_ for each other, but he didn't think Sherlock would ever marry anyone. Especially Jim Moriarty. And then he started thinking of the proposal that must have occurred in the last twenty-four hours. Did Sherlock ask him? Oh, God, he couldn't imagine Sherlock actually _getting on one knee and asking for_ Jim's _hand._

"Of course, who else?" John imagined him half-laying on the couch, mobile in one hand, doing his eye roll-half shrug he did when in particularly good spirits.

"Right," John said, and he couldn't tell how he was feeling. There was joy, yes. But underneath it there was that tinge of paranoia that Jim would hurt him or vice-versa. And then there was jealousy. It was faint and he knew he'd have to get it under control as to be nothing but happy for them both when he was faced with them again. "Well, I wish you the best-"

"Wait...there's something else." Sherlock said.

"Yes?"

"I want," he began. "I want you to-" he cleared his throat. Once again he imagined him narrowing his eyes and fluttering the lids, pressing his lips together in a hard line and swallowing thickly. "I want you to be my best man." It sounded like a question. He was obviously out of his depth and this was the best he could manage. He was literally asking him.

"Of course," he replied. "Wait, hold on. I thought you hated weddings?" He asked, opting to tease him to ease the tension on Sherlock's end.

"Mycroft is insisting. Pestering exceedingly well for only being aware of it for six minutes and fourty-three seconds."

John laughed and hung up once they'd said their goodbyes.

"Who was that?" Mary asked, cradling a wicker basket full of a variety of roses from the garden.

"Sherlock," John answered, shaking his head in disbelief, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh yeah? Is everything alright?" She asked, picking a vase up from the island and maneuvering around the bar.

"Yeah, yeah everything," he couldn't help but giggle at least a little bit. She looked up, eyebrows knitted together. "Everything is cool." He finished. "He's - uh - he's getting married."

She looked up again from her basket, mouth falling open and the basket of flowers hitting the floor. Petals skittered around the tile.

"He's _what_?"

"Getting married. He asked me to be his best man." He cleared his throat through his nose and smiled. Mary covered her mouth and nose with both hands.

"That's amazing!" she exclaimed, crossing the room to hug him tightly. "Wedding and all, yeah?"

John chuckled, shaking his head again. "Mycroft's orders. This will be interesting to be a part of."

 

/ / /

 

As usual, Mycroft planned everything meticulously. From beginning to end he had it mapped thoroughly, in his head and on actual paper. So when the wedding rolled around, there was an air of calm around everyone sitting in the chapel. Except for Sherlock. His stomach twisted sharply into thick, uncomfortable knots. There were people out there, fourty people he'd have to see again at some point or another. Fourty people that were going to watch him get married. It made him want to throw up. Why, _why_ did there have to have been a ceremony and why did he not put his foot down and say _no_ there will be papers to sign and we will be married but _for the love of god, please no ceremony._ But this is what people did. They had over-expensive parties to show their love. They danced and drank and did everything that their parents did just because they didn't know how to say no. They went to church, they exchanged vows. Mycroft had tried to persuade them into wanting Westminster Abbey and thank God Jim said no... They were Mr. and Mrs. - or in this case... - and no one saw them as two _different_ people any more. They were Sherlock and Jim, the couple that lived on Baker Street. _Hey you want to go out for drinks? let me text my_ husband _and see if_ we _have any plans for the evening._ God, it was making him sick just thinking about it.

Surprisingly, Sherlock felt happy about everything else. Just not the standing-in-front-of-our-families-and-kiss-in-the-name-of-everything-that-is-holy. And Mycroft just _had_ to have it in a church, didn't he. The same church that his parents were married in. His chest contracted and he began to pace the hallway. It was ridiculous and trivial and so full of _sentiment_ that if someone else handed him one more _bloody rose_ he'd probably-

"Sherlock?" It was John. He stopped pacing and agreed to join him on the steps just outside of the hallway doors. No one could see them.

"I need a smoke," he nearly wailed, wrapping his arms under his thighs and forehead on his knees.

"It's okay to be nervous-"

"I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous? There's nothing to be nervous about and god help me John Watson if you begin to give me a list of everything I should be nervous about I may throw up."

"Of course you're not." John said with a rub of the shoulder. "And listen, I know it's not the getting married part. It's a totally... _logical_ next step. It's not the life after the wedding. It's the people and the priest and the sanctuary that you're worried about. And that's okay too. No one is here, telling you that this is going to be an easy day, because it's not easy. It's emotional, granted you don't have to worry about Jim being pregnant...but it's still a rough day. Remember Commander Sholto?" he asked.

"Of course I remember Commander Sholto," he groaned into his knees.

"You were extremely calm for the situation and I thank you for that. But you know, I will be the same way for you. For anything. Just tell me what you need and I will be there, okay?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to give the speech until the reception," he chided, but straightened up all the same. "Come a long John, there's a wedding to be had."

 

/ / /

 

The tuxedos were all matching, except that Sherlock's were blue and Jim's a light lavender color - not lilac, as he was later informed by Sherlock himself. The reception was held in a hotel ballroom catered by some upscale restaurant Mycroft regulared. Sherlock had relaxed tremendously after the ceremony and was almost a different person during the part of the reception that was not focused on him. Then, after the wine was served and the dinners began that the speeches were called for. John went first. Then some bloke named Sebastian Moran that was a good friend of Jim's. Then Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes," John began, "could quite possibly be the most abrasive, blunt, annoying insufferable prat to have ever walked the face of the earth." Solemn nods could be spotted around the room. Lestrade's eyes widened and he took a sip of his wine. "But, he is the most talented, brilliant, kind and adventurous person I have ever met. Our paths crossed through an old friend of mine almost six years ago and since, I have never had a dull moment. I have experienced the most convoluted and strange things everywhere from being chased by a man in a gas mask through a marsh, to coming home to thumbs in the crisper. But one thing is for certain, I have never been bored. He waltzed into my life - quite literally at one point - and things have never been the same. I can say, with confidence, that I would not be here today without him. Yes, there were trying times where I thought I'd throttle him an times I thought we'd kill each other, but most importantly, that we'd kill for one another. Through it all, I knew he was the best mate I had ever had and could ever hope to have. While I kept him right, he kept me sane. To the happy couple," John said, raising his glass.

Sebastian Moran's speech was mostly about himself, but what could you expect from a man who looked like a model. He drove a Ferrari and had designer sunglasses and always color coordinated his socks with his underwear and John didn't think there was much capacity in his brain for much else. Other than himself. People still clapped and al seemed well in the world of weddings this day. When it finally was Sherlock's turn, he seemed, to everyone else, calm and collected. But John knew better - and so did Jim, apparently, going by the gentle squeeze he gave their entwined fingers before he stood.

"I didn't think I'd ever be standing here, in front of you all today to publically announce the love I have been aware of for years." Molly was towards the back, gripping the stem of her wine glass. She didn't look upset and she was doing the one thing most women in her position could not: be happy for the person they'd crushed on for as long as John had known her. Which was a long time. She looked pensive, almost. "I have once said that I was married to my work," he said.

"That's true," Jim said, leaning towards Sebastian. He was smiling, eyes glowing with a radiance John had never seen. Maybe it wasn't so hard to imagine how Sherlock had fallen so quickly, after all.

"Of course, I'd never expected to _literally_ marry my work, but..." Jim looked up at him, the smile tugging even further across his face. "...today I have."

Jim took a deep breath and when Sherlock finally sat down again, he pulled him into a lingering kiss.

 

/ / /

 

"Well that was tedious," Sherlock said, once inside the car they had 'borrowed' from Mycroft.

"It wasn't too bad," Jim said, pulling the sleeves of the navy jumper he had changed into after the ritual of throwing the birdseed and everything. They were spending their week off in a cottage of sorts in the south of France. It was going to be the longest they'd spent together without the threat of some impending doom looming over their heads like a pendulum. It should be a relaxing time off.


End file.
